She loves
by AirborneGirl
Summary: A fluffy future literati. One-parter.


**Disclaimer: **Don't own Jess, don't own Rory. Do own Denzel.

**Author's note**: Just something that popped up. Had to write it down.

**_She loves…_**

Snowflakes. They hit him square in the face the moment he steps outside. The first snow of the winter season. And he doesn't know if he wants to curse or smile. _She loves snow._

He decides to abandon both thoughts as he shrugs and keeps moving down the crowded streets, taking the stairs that will lead him to the subway. _The same one he took with her when she came to see him that fateful day, holding her hotdog for her while she held onto anything that would stop her from falling over. Anything being mostly him._

He discards yet another memory, wishing you could just throw them away like a candy wrapping into the trashcan. Quickly he gets on and off the heavily overstuffed vehicle and walks the last few yards to the secondhand bookshop he works at. He loves how he's made his hobby his work. And he loves books. _So does she. They could talk for hours about authors, meanings and styles, always bantering but never fighting._

The warm greeting of Denzel, friend and owner of the place, gets him out of that last trip down memory lane and he's secretly grateful. That is, until the man silently pours him a cup of coffee while he gets rid of his soaked through jacket. _Coffee. She loves coffee. Almost as much as she loves her mom. And her books…and him?_

Now he does curse, shaking his head violently. He hasn't seen her in years. He doesn't know where she is or what's she's doing. And usually, he doesn't care all that much. But every now and then his mind takes him on a small personal history tour and everything he sees, hears or does will remind him of her. He takes another small sip and decides to get to work. It's the only way he knows how to get through days like this one. Working. And maybe persuading Denzel to go have a drink after work. Or maybe more than one.

Without being told, he begins to unpack the "new" shipment, mostly donations, knowing how much his friend and boss hates it. He pulls out book after book, quickly glancing over title, author and summary to determine the right genre to place the item with. He works silently and methodically for over an hour, almost forgetting this is one of those days. Until…Ayn Rand. _The Fountainhead. She loves this book. He hates it. But then again, she hates Hemmingway, while he loves it._

He sits down in an old but very comfortable leather chair Denzel found at a garbage sale. It oddly fits in between the rows and rows of books, offering customers a little private space to sit down with one of their possible new assets. But they're closed on Monday mornings, so he sits in quiet.

Denzel finds him there after a while, totally absorbed either in the novel or his own thoughts. He lets the man be, he looks like he needs some calm time alone.

He reads until, to his great surprise, morning has turned into afternoon and he's reached to last page. Feeling somewhat refreshed now that he's held his end of a decade old bargain, he walks up front to open the doors to their few but loyal customers.

It's a rather busy day, but he doesn't mind. It keeps his mind off other things. As a bonus, he likes this part of the job. Giving a little girl a fairytale book for free when her mom buys her monthly selection of romance novels. Giving the old man that comes every two weeks advice about what to read next, looking up a book for a teenage boy to read in class…it makes him feel respected and needed.

Sometimes, on days when people donate their books to the shop, some of them come back, regretting their decision to give a certain book up, trying to get it back. So he doesn't look up when a woman approaches him, scraping her throat to attract his attention.

"Excuse me, but this morning I gave away my copy of the Fountainhead, and now I think I shouldn't have. Do you think I can buy it back from you?" He looks up now. And drowns into another pit of memories as the very well known blue eyes meet his brown ones…

_One year later… _

Snowflakes. They hit him square in the face the moment he steps outside. The first snow of the winter season. And he smiles. _She loves snow. Still does. As much as she loves him. Or so she said just now…_

**_End of story. Reviews much appreciated._**


End file.
